Butterfly Wings
by Lilas
Summary: When Naruto met Iruka. (Naruto-gets-a-family type of fic (because the kid derserves SO much more))


Author: Lilas

Title: Butterfly Wings

Disclaimer: Naruto isn't mine. And if he was, I'd hug him over and over and over!

Author's note: This is for Jin because she asked. Sorry it's so damn late! And if the ending is all weird, it's because I wrote it last night at the wee hours of the morning. Bluh! Enjoy minna!

New upload because I fixed my italics problem! Thank you SOC Puppet!! *hugs*

***

His earliest memory was of a butterfly. He remembered it had blue wings that shone and changed color under the sun. He remembered watching it as he slowly rocked back and forth on his swing, rocking back and forth as all the children in the village played around him with their friends or their parents. He loved watching that butterfly. It flapped its wings over and over as it went from one flower to the next, as if it were looking for the perfect one, for the ultimate paradisiacal perch. 

His second earliest memory was the disappointment whenever he outgrew his clothes. It wasn't really a memory, but more of a reminiscence of the tightening of his chest as he was handed down a shirt two seizes too big and pants with so many holes he had been sure rats had eaten it away. He remembered the fright and the helplessness as the store owner yelled at him for being ungrateful that he was willingly giving him free clothes. He remembered the snickers of the older children as he ran out the store and back to his empty house.

He had always been alone. He didn't know any better than to cry himself to sleep on nights when the darkness oppressed him and to hold himself tightly on nights when nightmares of death and blood haunted him. He didn't know any better than to cook simple things on a stove too dangerous for him to use, and to watch silently as his various burns healed themselves minutes after being created from a spilled pot or a slip of the finger as he touched the hot stove.

His third earliest memory was of a boy years older than him saying hello to him. He had been the first person to civilly talk to him (except for the old man), and it wasn't much of a surprise to him or anyone else that he was instantly placed under the list of 'highly suspicious people' that should never ever be trusted no matter what. There was no way someone would willingly become his friend. He had learned that the hard way, and it was a lesson that had faithfully stayed with him since then.

 After that first hello, however, his life had started to change. The people weren't yelling at him everywhere he went. The snickers had diminished and the name calling had all but ceased. He didn't know why. He didn't understand what he had done for them to stop, but he was happy they had. It gave him a peace of mind. It gave him time to think and to hope that maybe he was finally being accepted into the village. But the cold stares didn't stop. And the meanness never went away. And the children never played with him. It was confusing, and it hurt.

He had become used to being the outsider. He had become used to being _that kid over there_, always alone, always quiet, always causing trouble, always being there, always _existing_. He hated that feeling. He hated the feeling of helplessness and loneliness whenever he tried to approach one of the kids and was promptly ignored and passed away as a second-rate loser. Some days he didn't even try. Other days he simply gave up.

He sat quietly on his swing, rocking slowly, watching with indifferent eyes as a butterfly lazily went from flower to flower, never satisfied, never quite satiated. He never looked up as a presence made itself known next to him, choosing instead to focus his attention on the butterfly as it remained on a flower, its wings slowly beating open and close. 

"A butterfly lives only to reproduce."

He looked up then and saw the teen who had spoken to him so many days ago. He didn't reply back, but kept his gaze on the older boy, watching as tanned fingers scratch a scar on his nose, brown hair moving with the breeze. He'd come the realization that the teen wouldn't ever leave him alone and that he might as well just accept his presence. It didn't really matter anyway, since he didn't have any friends –and never would have. The teen would get sick of him and go away. Just like everyone else did.

"Once the caterpillar turns into a butterfly, it only has twenty-four hours to lay its eggs before it dies."

"It's a crappy parent," he heard himself reply as he shifted his gaze back to the butterfly.

"It has no choice. I'm sure that if they could, butterflies would take care of their young, but nature doesn't let them."

"Nature sucks." He pushed the swing with more force.

"Sometimes things happen, and our parents can't see us growing up." He grabbed the steel chains and stopped the swing, waiting for the child to look up at him with furious blue eyes. "Sometimes they sacrifice themselves so we can live."

"What's the point?" He looked back down, glaring at the ground. _What's the point if no one likes me, if no one is willing to give me a chance? What's the point of being alive if I feel like I'm dead?_

"Do you want to get something to eat? I'm starving."

The boy looked up, blue eyes wide and startled at the invitation. Was it for real? But if this man was inviting him for lunch, he was inviting him for company. He was inviting him because he wanted to spend time with him, even though he had ignored and yelled at him to go away and to leave him alone… It'd mean he wasn't alone anymore.        

"It's my treat, Naruto-kun. Anywhere you want."

Blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why?"

"My parents were butterflies. I guess that would make the both of us caterpillars, ne?"

The child looked away to the ground, watching as his feet hovered a few inches from it, blue sandals wasting away and covered in dirt. _A caterpillar, huh?_Well, from what he'd seen, caterpillars ate a lot, and he was hungry. It'd be nice to have lunch with someone, to pretend –no, to believe –that someone actually wanted his company.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I'm a chuunin. My name's Umino Iruka. Now I'm not a stranger anymore."

"Fine. But I'm not paying."

"My treat."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Fine. But you promised!"

He jumped off the swing, flashed the teen next to him a sheepish grin and ran off towards his choice restaurant, smiling when he heard the older boy curse and yell at him to wait up. He looked back impulsively and watched as the butterfly beat its wings and flew up into the sky. 

Even if it was only twenty-four hours, for those hours it held the power of life. 

Maybe he could too. Maybe one day he'd grow up into a butterfly.

Just like his parents.

Just like the one he remembered in his dreams.

Just like that.


End file.
